


Stolen My Past

by unsettled



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>And when he speaks -- "Mr Charles" -- his voice low and choked from months of disuse, no-one's there.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen My Past

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [lead balloon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/127588) by [scrapbullet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet). 



  
[   
  
](http://scrapbullet.livejournal.com/47647.html)   
_And when he speaks -- "Mr Charles" -- his voice low and choked from months of disuse, no-one's there._

  
They tell him that the man came to visit him – at least, they say a man came to visit him, but the name isn't one he knows, and when he tries to contact him, there's nothing but a disconnected phone and a messy paper trail that speaks of fronts and fakes and disappearing acts.

He knows the face, knows the voice, knows the heavy weight of trust he'd offered up; knows the hollow spot where those things rested and are no longer his, and trapped somewhere he cannot reach, and he wants them, wants them back as his own.

Wants some measure of comfort, some reassurance that he'll see him again – that he'll know him if he sees him again.

They tell him he's sure to readjust, that he's picking things up quickly, that he'll be back to normal any time, and that's a lie that sits like ash on his tongue, sharp and choking and remnants of his sanity, of his past, of the things he should know and _doesn't_. There's no going back to what he was, even if he could remember what it was, what normal is, and it's not like he doesn't see the glances they exchange over his head, like they're just waiting for some bomb under his skin to go off.

He's waiting for it too. Waiting, with baited breath.


End file.
